Here's To You
by Mezo Phane
Summary: Now with second chapter up! Read author's note for explanation. Three and a half months after his awakening, Jim Kirk decides to pull a vanishing act, making his two best friends go looking for him-and they find him in a place they probably should have seen coming. Set during ST:ID.
1. Here's To You

A.N. This one-shot is set three and a half months after Jim wakes up in Star Trek: Into Darkness, and extra special credit to Beamirang for inspiring me with her fic "Matterhorn", and if you've read it, you'll have a good idea of what inspired me by the end. Go read her works, they're really good for a laugh, or a kick in the feels. In a good way.

Disclaimer: As I am not Paramount Pictures, nor am I Gene Roddenberry, I own nothing of Star Trek, though I really would love to have a Tribble. Or two.

Like I said in my fic Closure, God-fearing person here, so please, kindly do not troll my beliefs, as two characters do discuss them in this fic.

That being said, thank you, and enjoy!

* * *

It was a bright spring day in San Francisco, and one could tell that summer was coming, you could smell it in the air. It was a day that was meant to be enjoyed, and savored. But, that was not what Dr. Leonard McCoy, M.D. and his companion, Spock, were doing. No. Instead, they were, as Leonard would put it, chasing after the damn idiot they both called friend, James T. Kirk.

"Dr. McCoy, are you certain that this is the Captain's location," Spock's oh-so-annoyingly-logical tone broke in on Leonard's thoughts, as they walked through the Starfleet Memorial Cemetery, to the final resting place of many of the Enterprise's crew, after their run-in with the Vengeance.

"Well. We've checked the Officers Quarters, we've checked every piece of crap bar Jim's likely to be in, what's left of the Enterprise, the library at the Academy, hell, even Starfleet Medical, where he wouldn't even be caught in on a good day," Leonard snarked.

He avoided saying "be caught dead in", seeing as Jim had in fact, been caught dead there not three and a half months before. Spock spoke up once more, "I am merely wondering about your logic, Doctor."

If Leonard wasn't more concerned with the mental and physical health of Jim Kirk, he wouldn't let the note of concern he heard in Spock's voice pass without a good ribbing, but as it was, Leonard had other priorities. They were wandering rather aimlessly, trying to catch sight of the tall frame of their captain, until Spock suddenly stopped, tilted his head, and then pointed to a hill, the tallest point in the whole place. They broke off of the cemetery's path, and crested the hill whose only occupants were a towering oak, a lone white gravestone, and the sitting, slumped figure of one James T. Kirk, who seemed to be talking to himself.

As he and Spock quietly got closer, he caught sight of a large bottle of bourbon, a third of it already consumed. At least it was only a third. Lord knew the kid could hold his liquor, and so, at least he'd still be coherent. If it were only a third left, _that'd_ be another story.

"Jim," Leonard gently called out, as they approached him on his left, so as not to startle him. He looked up, breaking off from his conversation with no one, it seemed, and Leonard caught sight of the tears rolling down Jim's cheeks and welling in his eyes, which he furtively wiped away. Leonard was mildly shocked, until he saw just who the gravestone Jim was sitting in front of memorialized. Vice Admiral Christopher M. Pike. Realization hit Leonard like a speeding hovercar, and from the look in the hobgoblin's eyes, he wasn't the only one.

"Bones," Jim rasped, confirming that he'd been crying for a while. "What are you doing here?"

Leonard ignored the protest from his joints as he eased himself down to the verdant grass, and imitated Jim's cross-legged posture. He barely noticed as Spock walked around to Jim's other side, and more gracefully imitated Jim's posture, his eyes focused on their mutual idiotic best friend.

"I could ask you the same thing, you stupid idiot. You should be taking it easy. I ought'ta hypo you to kingdom come," Leonard said.

Jim only huffed a short laugh in response. "Yeah, love you too, Bones." Here, he took up the bourbon bottle once more and took a generous swig.

"Are you alright, Jim," Spock gently asked, managing to soften his tone, something Leonard wouldn't have thought he could do.

"Fine," Jim nonchalantly muttered, though Leonard knew better. He could see that the kid was close to breaking down.

"Based on the inflection of your tone, Jim, I would say that you are not, in fact, fine," Spock pressed.

"Well, it's subjective, isn't it," Jim snapped. Silence reigned for a good two minutes before Jim spoke again, his tone this time quiet and slightly broken. "I'm sorry. I-it-it's just-it's his birthday today," he gestured with the bourbon bottle, which was now on its way to being half empty, to the pristine white stone in front of the trio. Leonard and Spock both looked to the stone, and saw, that indeed, on this day, fifty-eight standard years ago, Christopher Pike was born.

"Do you remember, Bones, how he would always spend my birthday with me, even if I didn't want him to, even if I was just pushing everybody away?"

"Yeah, I do, Jim. I was there for all of them too, kid. I was usually the one who led him to ya, after all, if he didn't find you first," he replied with a hint of humor.

"When I found out his, I would spend at least part of his with him, even if it was just for a few minutes, you know, to kind of return the favor, I guess. He was sort of like me, you know. He had no family to celebrate with - his parents died a while back, he was an only child, and he wasn't married, had no kids. So I would head to his office with a bottle of his favorite bourbon," he gestured to the bottle he held, "and we'd drink a glass or two. He'd ask me about my day, and we'd just talk, you know, about random things, new quantum theories, mathematic formulas, and even just how crappy some of the professors could be, as if the thing that made him happiest was to talk with me, about me, about the most mundane things, on his birthday, the one day that was supposed to be about him. We even bonded over having really embarrassing middle names."

Jim was beginning to loosen up, and his filter was weakening due to the amount of alcohol in his system. He chuckled ruefully, and fell silent once more. Then he looked up, and said, out of left field, "Marion."

"What?" Leonard asked, while Spock tilted his head, a puzzled brow raised.

"That's what the M. stands for," Jim tilted his head at the stone. "Christopher Marion Pike. That's his full name. It was his grandmother's name, he said. Just like Tiberius was my grandfather's."

Jim took another swig, this one thankfully smaller than the last, and then set the bottle down on the grass. He took a couple of shaky breaths, and suddenly, a sob burst from his mouth. Then came the tears, and more sobs. "I miss him, God help me, I miss him." Jim doubled over, the emotions cascading through him.

Surprisingly, it was Spock who reached for him first, putting a hand on Jim's back. Shocked, Jim looked towards his XO, and slowly, the tension in his face eased, as Spock obviously worked some sort of Vulcan voodoo on Jim.

"I regret that I did not tell you this earlier, but Admiral Pike's last thoughts were of you," Spock said.

"You said he was afraid."

"Yes, he was. But he was afraid that he wouldn't stay alive long enough to tell you that he loved you as if you were his own son, that he believed in you, and that he had absolutely no doubt that you would make him proud. He was confused and angry as to why he had to die then, knowing that he wouldn't be there for you anymore. You should also know that he was very thankful for your visits on his birthday, a day when he felt especially the absence of family in his life. That he would miss those, and you, wherever he went after death."

Jim's face crumpled, and he hurled himself into Spock's arms, nearly knocking the bourbon over, said Vulcan slowly returning said violent hug. Leonard's heart hurt for Jim, hearing that couldn't be easy.

"I heard him, you know," Jim murmured, his speech muffled by the thick fabric of Spock's off duty Vulcan clothing.

"What do you mean, Jim?" Leonard asked.

"Before I woke up, I heard his voice, along with my Dad's, and strangely, my Mom's, seeing as she's still alive. I heard Chris giving me the same dare he did when he recruited me. It was like they were really talking to me, willing me to wake up, even though part of me didn't really want to... even while I really did... it was nice where I was..." Jim paused. "I hope he's at peace, wherever he is."

"I am not entirely knowledgeable with human religious beliefs, but my mother was a Christian, and if I remember correctly, the righteous gain admittance to Heaven. From what I know, Admiral Pike fit that category, so it follows, then, that he would be admitted to such a place." Spock sanguinely replied.

Jim heaved several more breaths before they evened out. He lifted his head from Spock's shoulder, Spock keeping a bracing hand on Jim's back, and said to both of them, "Thanks for looking for me," as Leonard also gently placed his arm around Jim.

"We're your friends, you moron. It's our job, and it's not a problem." Leonard said, his sarcastic edge dulled, but not completely removed.

They remained like that, for a long duration of time before Leonard pulled Jim up, hauling Spock up along with him, and grabbed the bottle of liquor. Leonard raised the bottle, tipping it in respect to the gravestone in front of them. "To Admiral Christopher Pike. A good officer, a good man, a good friend, and a good father." He looked meaningfully at Jim here, who tearfully nodded. Leonard put his lips to the bottle and knocked back a sizable amount, passing it to Spock, who cautiously took it, and after a moment of hesitation, likewise tipped the bottle in respect, and took a good drink of it before finally passing it to Jim.

"Here's to you, Chris. You might not have been my real Dad, but you were pretty damn close. And that was more than enough for me."

He tipped the bottle as well, taking a large gulp of the amber liquid, before coming up for air. He contemplated the marble before him for a second, before pouring out the last measure of bourbon onto the ground before the gravestone.

"You might not be here anymore, but you still deserve a drink on your birthday, Chris," Jim murmured, barely audible.

He stepped forward, placing his hand on the marker, Leonard and Spock letting Jim have a quiet moment with the Admiral, the two looking at the stone which summarized rather poorly the entirety of just who Christopher Pike was. It should've at least said, "Beloved Father", but that was just Leonard's opinion.

Jim then turned, and said, "Come on, guys, let's go. Chris wouldn't want us to be depressed on this day. Let's go get dinner in his honor and a few more drinks, Lord knows I need it," before he strode away, certain the two would follow.

This brought a smile back to Leonard's face. Jim was on his way back to being, well, Jim. Leonard clapped a hand on Spock's shoulder, moving him along until they caught up with their Captain.

When the trio drew even with each other, Jim brightly said, "So, did I ever tell you, Spock, about how Bones, Chris and I got drunk together on my twenty-third birthday?" As Spock raised an incredulous eyebrow, (well, incredulous for a Vulcan, anyway,) Leonard halfheartedly protested while he contemplated how he could convince Starfleet to allow an engraver to make an addition to a certain gravestone.

The End.

A. N. Two: my ST muse seems to focus around Pike and the triumvirate. Hey, who am I to complain, though?

Hope you liked it!


	2. Cheers

A.N. I know I said this was finished, but... long story short, this is a series of one-shots that I was going to separate because there were slight character differences, and slight genre differences, but I decided to post them as one cohesive fic. Expect two to three more one-shots after this one. Extra, extra, extra special credit to Beamirang, she really inspired me with her fic "Matterhorn", like I said, and so, I decided with a very, very sizeable amount of trepidation to bring the scene which inspired me that she so briefly described to life. To Beamirang, please don't kill me. (braces self for hurled tomatoes)

Disclaimer: If I were J.J. Abrams, Paramount Pictures, or Gene Roddenberry, I would have saved Captain Pike from Khan.

I am also not Brendon Urie of Panic! At the Disco, or any member of that group for that matter, current or former. Kudos if you spot the reference. ;)

* * *

Stardate 2256.4

Starfleet Academy, San Francisco

"And now, we honor the deceased who perished on the USS Kelvin. Captain Richard F. Robau."

A bell tolls.

"Lieutenant Commander George D. Kirk."

A bell tolls.

Jim doesn't really pay any more attention after that. This is his first Kelvin Memorial Day/birthday at Starfleet Academy, the first one he's celebrating like this, and he can already tell he hates it. All it felt like was that they were rubbing the fact that his Dad was dead in his face - much as he hated to admit it, he was still grieving for the father he never even knew, despite the fact that he felt very much his Dad's presence, although much more in the way of a hovering cloud over his head, what with the way people were expecting some sort of life-changing insight to issue forth from his mouth at every turn, and not only that, he hadn't had a night's sleep for the past two days, so he was practically running on instinct, a dangerous blend of caffeine and stims he swiped from Bones' medkit, _and_ he had been in this annoying dress uniform with its stiff and hyper-starched collar for the better part of the day, and he still had several more hours to go before he could take it off. He stood stiffly at attention, fighting the urge to reach up to scratch his neck - what did they starch the collars with, poison ivy? When they finished the list of the crew who perished, he was about to breathe a sigh of relief, until he remembered that there was still the dinner to get through, and realized that he had been standing still long enough for one of the Commandants of the Academy to approach him and usher him to the banquet hall.

Following the roughly two hours of agony, in which Jim was paraded around like some sort of 20th century sideshow attraction, he finally escaped, and "walked briskly" back to his dorm. He practically tore off his uniform, and put on instead a comfortable shirt and pants, before collapsing onto his bed. He was just about to drift off when... the door swished open, and a Southern-tinged voice proclaimed, "Get your stupid ass up, Jim!"

"Whaaa," was his elegant reply.

"Come on, I'm taking you out for a drink."

"Lemme sl'p Bones," Jim muttered.

"Nope. Get up now, you infant, or I'm _making_ you get up."

Jim's head came up slightly. "Why? 'M so tired."

"Believe me, you need a drink now. Better to get the hangover and the self-loathing over with now, while your teachers can be persuaded to take it easy on you."

"I'm fine, really, just let me sleep, and leave me alone."

"Nope," Bones nonchalantly proclaimed, as he literally picked up one of Jim's arms and started to bodily drag him out of bed. Jim realized this seconds before he fell the short distance to the floor flat on his face. "I am getting you absolutely wasted, Jim. Up and at 'em, kid!"

His jovial tone was starting to induce a headache in Jim - how could anyone be that happy this time of the evening? He was about to start the process of hauling himself back into bed, but the hypospray unceremoniously _stabbed_ into his neck halted that. He was about to complain about what exactly that hypo was for, but the sudden absence of his massive impending headache, the ache caused by suddenly falling flat on his face, and the subsequent rush of energy stopped him.

"Now," Bones spoke in his "Doctor" voice, "this combo of drugs is a little dangerous, seeing as how I'm not totally sure how one of the only painkillers your damn fool self ain't allergic to, is going to react with the last vial I have of Themamine, which I know you've been taking from my medkit, and the alcohol I hope to have in your system."

A surge of guilt rushed through Jim, and he stammered out, "I-I'm so-" "Shove it, Jim. You can repay me by coming with me to the first bar we see."

Bones took one of Jim's sprawled limbs and hauled Jim to his feet. "Just stick to beer, no hard liquor, you should be fine." And before Jim could get a word in edgewise, Bones was putting on Jim's shoes for him, and dragging him out the door.

The first bar they saw was this kinda-decent dive bar called "The Busty Babe", and an hour later, Jim and Bones were more than halfway into a six-pack of beer, respectively. As a result, sobriety was more than halfway out the window. More like hanging by a thread, getting closer to becoming nonexistent.

"So, Jiyum," Bones slurred, his Southern drawl becoming exaggerated, "what'd ya think of, of the whole dayum ceremony of this whole dayum day?" He paused for a second, then guffawed, saying, "hey, that kinda rhymes!" Causing the two to burst into laughter like a couple of hyenas, drawing stares from other bar patrons.

"I hated it, Bones," Jim slurred just as badly, his midwestern accent, which was slowly disappearing, making a reappearance. "I abso-tehlutehly ha-ted it. I felt like a freaking sideshow, you know, from the 20th century." They maintained a drunken silence, punctuated by heavy alcohol-soaked breaths, and the gentle thud of beer bottles against the wooden bar counter.

Then Bones proclaimed, "Ah know, let's comm that Cap'n friend o' yours, Pah-Pahke and tell 'im what ya think."

"It's Pike, Bones."

"Thass wha' ah said, idjit!" Bones fumbled for his comm, just saving it from falling on the floor. "Whass tha frequency, Jim?"

Somehow, Jim rattled off a string of numbers which Bones miraculously managed to completely enter into the irritating little device. It rang for a moment, then a strong, male voice answered, "Dr. McCoy, what can I do for you?"

"We, Jim an' ah, tha' is, we wanted to tell you how much Jim hated th' ceremony of today, an'... ah don' know wha' else ta say, we're drunk as hell!"

Jim then interjected, "I'm not as think as you-you-ah, hell, I forgot."

A barely audible sigh was heard, then, "Where are you two, you're in no condition to get home alone."

"The Busty Babe!" Was loudly chorused into the receiver, and Pike replied, "Stay there, and don't move, or this is going on both of your records." They blew a collective raspberry, but by that time, Christopher Pike had hung up, and was dashing out the door, barely sparing time to put on a light coat.

* * *

The last thing Chris Pike expected at 2200 hours was a drunken comm from Leonard McCoy, and at the same time, it was exactly what he expected. He could see the discomfort in Jim's face that afternoon, and he knew enough of McCoy to know that that night or the next, he'd have to fish them out of some piece of crap bar. And so, he had braced himself that evening for the eventual responsibility of dragging them back to their dorms. At least though, they commed him before any brawls could occur. When he finally found his way to "The Busty Babe", the two cadets were easy to spot - they were the ones clinging to each other lest they fall right off of their barstools in the corner. "Kirk. McCoy." He sternly spoke.

They as one, turned, and Jim said, "Chris! Come join us in our revelry!" As he widely gestured with his - you had to be kidding - sixth bottle of beer? At least he saw no shot glasses. It might be an old wives tale, but he could attest to the fact that, "Beer and liquor, never sicker", from his own cadet days, loathe as he was to admit it. He snatched the beer out of Jim's hand, despite his protesting, "hey," and set it on the counter.

"What the hell are you two doing! You are Starfleet cadets, and not only that, you are the most brilliant mind in the medical track, and the son of George Kirk, brilliant in your own right, and one of the, if not the most stellar student in the command track, maybe even the Academy, respectively." Chris knew Jim was the most brilliant student in the Academy, but he wasn't about to inflate Jim's ego any further. "And you two are sitting here, drunk off your damn asses. As your commanding officer, I have the right to put you two in for disciplinary action." He let the threat hover, then, "That being said, as Christopher Pike, you deserve a drink, both of you. You, Jim, for managing to get through that stupid parade they made of this day, and you, McCoy, for not letting Jim drink alone, although, you seem to have had more than one, apparently."

This seemed to sober the two up, and they now looked grave. "Well," he looked at the pair, "you're both already sauced, so might as well finish up your beers, what's a little more at this point?"

Chris took the barstool beside Jim, and watched the two start to finish up. There was half left in both of their bottles before Jim said, his voice surprisingly steadier than five minutes ago, "Chris, get a drink, let's drink to the savior of the USS Kelvin, who couldn't be bothered to save himself at the same time, the heroic idiot."

Chris felt that this statement rather encompassed Jim's entire sense of his father, the love-hate situation he felt. Reluctantly, Chris flagged down the bartender, and ordered a shot of bourbon, looking at Jim, waiting for him to speak, just as McCoy was doing.

"To my dad, Lieutenant Commander George Daniel Kirk, who, while saving me, my mother, and more than two-thirds of the ship's crew complement, perished, after exhausting all weapons available to him, setting a self destruct course, severely damaging the enemy ship to the point that they could not pursue, nor fire upon the escaping shuttles."

Chris fought the urge to let his jaw drop, he should have known that Jim would read his dissertation, as that toast was almost word for word the entire summary he wrote for his paper. They lifted their glasses and toasted George Kirk. There was a moment of silence, before Jim spoke again.

"Why?" He said, to no one in particular, his tone starting to break. "Why couldn't he have saved himself too? Couldn't he have set the course and ran to the shuttle bay? He had over a minute! He didn't even try to save himself! Why did he even stay to begin with?"

"He had to fight off the shots to the shuttles, Jim." Chris quietly spoke. "There weren't any auto-targeting systems yet, and the auto-pilot was destroyed. If he left, no one would be able to prevent the enemy shots from hitting any number of the shuttles. Your shuttle might have gotten hit, killing you, your mother, and the medical staff onboard."

"I know that! I just... wish he were still alive. I wish he were here, stupid as it is."

"'S not stupid, Jim," McCoy said, his speech still slurring slightly. "Ev'ryone needs a dad in their lives, 's not stupid ta wish yours was still 'ere."

"Have you ever heard the recording in the shuttle, Jim," Chris asked, as he flagged down the bartender for another shot. While the brand was not his usual favorite, it was still smooth, and enjoyable.

"Yeah. About a million times," replied Jim tiredly.

"Well, have you ever listened to your Dad's tone? I remember my Dad sounding exactly like that, talking like that to me. My Dad loved me, and yours loved you."

A tear Jim couldn't repress slipped out of his eye, and he mildly sniffed. "Thanks," he muttered, after a beat.

Chris placed a gentle hand on Jim's shoulder.

"You were talking about your dad in the past tense. Is he..." Jim cautiously asked.

"Yeah," Chris sighed, finding himself suddenly in the need for a third shot, feeling mildly better as the bourbon flowed through him. He still missed his parents. It wasn't easy, being an only child. "Halfway through the first semester of my second year at the Academy. Both he and my Mom. They were going home from dinner. Shuttle transport gone wrong, was what they called it."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay, it was a while back."

"Well," McCoy said, "looks like we're all part of some dead parents club."

Chris and Jim looked across at him.

"Muh Daddy died from a disease called Pyrrhoneuritis. Causes unbearable pain. He intentionally overdosed on morphine. A month later, they found the cure. St'll beat muhself up over that."

They all drank in solemn silence, until, "Well," Chris murmured, as he ordered yet another shot, "here's to all our parents."

Shot glass and beer bottles clinked against each other as they toasted, then drank. "Aren't we a trio?" Chris asked quietly.

"Yup," was the collective reply. From that point on, the night started to become a bit of a blur for Chris.

* * *

"Ohhh," the starship Captain groaned, as he woke up with the worst hangover he had ever had the misfortune to experience. In hindsight, he reflected, he probably shouldn't have had that fourth shot. Or the third, for that matter. How he ended up staying _in_ the bar getting drunk with Jim and McCoy when his initial purpose was getting them _out_ of the bar was something he didn't understand. Although, if he was honest with himself, he understood _exactly_ how. And he didn't enjoy thinking about it anymore than he already did the night before. He still missed his family, and he still felt lonely, after all these years, when he got to thinking about it. Finally, he looked around, once he could open his eyes without feeling that a million knives were stabbing into his eyeballs.

He was in his apartment, okay, that was good. On his couch, weird, but still okay, and he was wearing all his clothes. That definitely was good. But then... from behind his couch, a voice moaned, "Hngghhh."

Chris gingerly lifted himself up to look behind the couch, and gazed right down into the bloodshot blue eyes of Jim Kirk, a still unconscious McCoy sprawled beside Jim's seated form. Ugh. He was definitely not going to be doing this again. Ever. No matter if Jim and McCoy were stinking, pass out drunk. They could get their own asses back to the dorms themselves.

The End

Just in case I don't upload the next one-shot before Christmas, Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!

God bless you all!


End file.
